‘How dare you drag me all—’ the minstrel began.

‘Now look,’ said Boy Willie, ‘none of us like havin' to wallop you alongside the ear when you go on like this, do we? Be reasonable.’

‘Reasonable? When you kidnap—’

Boy Willie snapped the gag back into place.

‘Thin streak of nothin',’ he muttered at the angry eyes. ‘You ain't even got a harp. What kind of bard doesn't even have a harp? Just this sort of little wooden pot thing. Damn silly idea.’

‘'S called a lute,’ said Caleb, through a mouthful of walrus.

‘Whut?’

‘IT'S CALLED A LUTE, HAMISH!’

‘Aye, I used to loot!’

‘Nah, it's for singin' posh songs for ladies,’ said Caleb. ‘About… flowers and that. Romance.’

The Horde knew the word, although the activity had been outside the scope of their busy lives.

‘Amazin', what songs do for the ladies,’ said Caleb.

‘Well, when I was a lad,’ said Truckle, ‘if you wanted to get a girl's int'rest, you had to cut off your worst enemy's wossname and present it to her.’

‘Whut?’

‘I SAID YOU HAD TO CUT OFF YOUR WORST ENEMY'S WOSSNAME AND PRESENT IT TO HER!’

‘Aye, romance is a wonderful thing,’ said Mad Hamish.

‘What'd you do if you didn't have a worst enemy?’ said Boy Willie.

‘You try and cut off anyone's wossname,’ said Truckle, ‘and you've soon got a worst enemy.’

‘Flowers is more usual these days,’ said Caleb, reflectively.

Truckle eyed the struggling lutist.

‘Can't think what the boss was thinking of, draggin' this thing along,’ he said. ‘Where is he, anyway?’

Lord Vetinari, despite his education, had a mind like an engineer. If you wished to open something, you found the appropriate spot and applied the minimum amount of force necessary to achieve your end. Possibly the spot was between a couple of ribs and the force was applied via a dagger, or between two warring countries and applied via an army, but the important thing was to find that one weak spot which would be the key to everything.